


Down and Dirty

by Oriberry



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11925687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriberry/pseuds/Oriberry
Summary: It's Belle's least favourite day of the month - the day Gold comes to collect rent. He's cold, she's not playing ball -  and tensions come to a head.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s just before closing time when Belle hears the library door opening and swishing closed. She tenses as the sound of a cane tap tapping across the floor gets louder and louder. The first Tuesday of the month means it’s rent day, which means Gold has come to collect.

Licking very dry lips, Belle waits until the landlord reaches the front desk. Neither says anything for the moment, each eyeing the other up. It must be cold outside; Gold is wearing a three quarter length coat and a navy blue polka dot scarf. She’d admire his dress sense if she didn’t hate him so much because he certainly knows how to rock the formal look. Nobody looks as good in a suit as Gold does.

“Miss French.” Eyes of a shark, dark and flat. No expression.

“Mr Gold.” Two can play at that game. Her voice is neutral, giving nothing away.

He waits, like a falcon hunting prey, to see what her next move is but when she continues to stand there in silence, he smiles. It’s not a very nice smile. It’s all sharp and crooked teeth.

The air thickens between them. Like it does every month.

“I’ve come to collect my payment.”

Belle rings up the till, removes a bundle of notes and defiantly hands it over. It’s a larger roll than usual on account of the fact it comprises one thousand one dollar bills. If nothing else it’ll take him time to count them, because count them he will. Plus it will be bulky and hopefully it won’t fit in any of his pockets. It's an act of pettiness, she knows, but however small the victory, it's still getting one over him and that's all that matters.

Another shark-like smile. “How very - thoughtful - of you, Miss French. You won’t mind if I just check it’s all there?”

Belle says nothing, just waves a dismissive hand at him. She doesn’t have anything on this evening and getting under Gold’s skin’s as good a way as any as passing the time.

He rests his cane against the counter and limps over to select a chair which he drags back to where Belle is still standing. Bloody but unbowed.

Carefully, precisely, he draws down the elastic band and then starts to count out the notes. Belle can tell he’s deliberately drawing out the process but that’s fine. She’ll go and make herself a pot of tea and leave him to it.

As if he can read her mind Gold calls out “I’ll have an earl grey please.” 

Belle makes a point of clattering around in her tiny kitchen stroke office in an effort to distract him, letting the kettle whistle for a few minutes, stirring the tea so vigorously that the spoon chinks pleasingly, clattering the teapot’s lid. When she returns, pointedly with only one cup and one cookie, he looks up expectantly and then when he sees he’s to go without, there’s finally a gleam in his eyes that could be amusement, could be something darker.

He continues to create neat piles of notes, she continues to watch him over the brim of her cup, steam warming her face. Something about Gold makes Belle want to revert back to behaving like a child; maybe it’s the stupid way he’s counting out her payment, so slowly, so so slowly; or maybe it’s because he knows how to push all her buttons, knows she’s impetuous and impatient so likes to make her wait, forcing her to move at his pace, not hers.

Finally she bites. “Are you quite done there, Gold. Some of us have lives to be getting on with?” 

Another indecipherable gleam in those eyes that speak of all things midnight and mystery.

“Almost there, Miss French, and then we can both be on our separate ways. I would so hate to keep you from - “ and he raises an eyebrow. 

Sarcastic bastard.

That surge of irritation turns out to be the trigger for the rapid decline of Belle's day. Because in she rushes, like a tidal wave, before her brain kicks in and shuts her mouth down. “My date, Gold, my date. I have a date. With, with-” and she casts around in her mind for someone plausible. Gold’s eyebrow is now so high it’s almost taken off. "With Gaston,” she says, with a note of triumph in her voice. Gaston at least is the right age, in that he’s not nearly 50. And he’s the right height, in that he’s not just two inches taller than her when she's in her heels. And he’s, he’s, he’s not too clever for his own good.

“Gaston.” Gone is the raised eyebrow, only to be replaced by a quirk of Gold’s mouth. “Interesting choice, Miss French. Perhaps a little - lowbrow, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I do mind you saying,” Belle snaps back, while inwardly wondering why she feels the need to defend her imaginary boyfriend. It’s fair to say that Gold really does not bring out the best in her.

“My apologies, Miss French,” Gold offers without sounding in the least bit sorry. “I’m sure he has many virtues.”

“Well he’s an excellent kisser, for one,” Belle hears herself saying. Out loud, for the love of God, why? Ah, but hold on, at least that’s put a stop to the money counting; Gold has abruptly stopped what he was doing and is now completely motionless. She leans in across the counter and purrs contentedly, “really, really excellent.”

Instead of backing away, however, Gold also leans in. He’s watching Belle, really studying her, as if he’d like to take her apart, piece by piece, and the amusement in his eyes has been replaced with something else, something that makes her belly heat up.

“And for another, Miss French?” he prompts, voice low and teasing.

Her mind obligingly empties itself of all ideas. But it seems that Gold is willing to act as an aide memoire.

“Does he make you scream?” 

Belle wants to die. A noise comes out of her mouth which puts an unholy smile on Gold’s face.

“And it that before or after he makes you beg?”

Belle’s brain is now officially scrambled. She offers up “er-” which possibly is the least eloquent response she’s ever come up with but then if anyone had told her that she’d be in a war of one-upmanship with her landlord about her phantom boyfriend and his sexual prowess, she’d have laughed them out of town.

To the best of Belle’s knowledge (and she’s put quite a lot of effort into this for - reasons) Gold has never dated. Gold is never seen in the company of women. Gold, according to Ruby, leads the life of a hermit. Which is why hearing these words coming out his mouth is so shocking. 

Undeterred Gold continues to pursue his line of enquiry. It’s making Belle hot and squirmy and wet. He's making her wet and all he's doing is speaking. Does he know what's he's doing to her?

“Does he tie you up? Bind your wrists? Spread you out?"

Yes, it seems he does. Although he's not entirely unaffected. His breath is coming out in tiny gasps and if she's not very mistaken, his trousers are looking a lot tighter than they were.

Belle gives up. Gives in. It only takes her a few quick steps and she's round to his side of the counter and then she's on him. Gold grunts and then his hands are tangling in her hair, his tongue against hers. He licks and nips and sucks his way down her throat and they're so caught up in exploring each other that Belle doesn't hear the door crash open or her name being called out, not until Gold pushes her off him so abruptly that she stumbles and loses her footing. 

Gold steadies her, holding her by the arm. "Miss Lucas," he hisses under his breath and for a man with a cane, he can move remarkably quickly. One minute he's making her melt, the next he's gathering up the money on the counter, cool as a cucumber. He finishes up, jots down a couple of notes, and then turns to her, face a mask. 

"You're a hundred dollars short, Miss French," and Belle marvels at how calm and collected he sounds. "I'll call for it next Tuesday. Please make sure that you have it, otherwise there will I fear be a price to pay. I'll see myself out." And with that, he makes his way to the door, nodding to Ruby as he does so, and goes into the night.

Ruby, sharp of eye and mind, steps up to Belle. "You've - uh - got a little something there," she says, pointing to Belle's pulse point. Damn Gold and those teeth of his. Belle gathers up the tattered remains of her dignity and assures Ruby that everything's fine and does she fancy a glass of wine a little later. Ruby, scenting a story, agrees with alacrity and then leaves so Belle can close up.

Sighing, Belle walks through the library, switching off all the lights. She collects her coat and bag and is about to leave when she notices a one dollar note on the floor. Stooping to pick it up she sees there's writing on it. Confused she takes a closer look.

In very neat writing, it says 'This isn't over.'


	2. Chapter 2

“What the sweet fuck is this?” Voice flat, eyes dark. Tension simmering nicely.

Belle shrugs. “It’s the outstanding amount I owed you.”

She and Gold both study the money bags strewn across the pawn shop’s counter. Call it petty but Belle really had enjoyed counting out the dimes and quarters. It may have taken her over an hour to do but the hard work has definitely paid off.

Gold is livid but trying desperately hard to keep his rage under wraps. He’s not doing a very good job so far. She’d give him nine out of ten for effort but only three out of ten for effectiveness. And that's being generous.

Belle ignores the fact that Gold is clearly seething with ill concealed anger and blithely continues. “$100 - I believe that was the sum due. Well, it’s all present and correct. Sorry about the coins, it was all I had had in the till.”

She watches him closely and sees the way the muscle in his cheek ticks. Well good, it serves him right.

Five days it had been, five whole days since that heated exchange with Gold. Five days spent wondering what had been going through his mind when he left that dollar note with his cryptic message on it, five days wondering if the kisses and bites had meant anything, anything at all to him. Five days wondering what on earth she’d been thinking, being so weak willed as to all but pounce on the man. 

Five very long days, five very lonely nights. Well, Belle thinks, that’s the price you pay for leaving me all hot and bothered. Your comeuppance. In small change.

“I see. How very - inconvenient for you.” Ah, his sarcasm is coming out to play.

“Oh it was no bother at all,” she trills. There goes that muscle in his cheek again.

She shrugs off her coat to reveal a little (with the emphasis very much on little) black dress that nicely accentuates her curves. While he might be able to - just - keep his emotions in check, he can’t stop his eyes from darkening to the blackest of winter nights at the sight of her.

Perhaps he’s not as ice cold as she’d thought.

"I’ll wait while you count it, that way we can both be sure the debt’s been paid. I wouldn’t want you having to take time out of your busy schedule to come by again until next rent day.”

She matches his hard look with a glare of her own and eventually he tears his eyes away to study the twenty or so bags. Now his focus is elsewhere Belle allows herself a moment to congratulate herself on how things are going so far.

Gold has been caught off guard. Tick.  
Gold is struggling to keep his temper under control. Tick.  
Gold has now got to spend an inordinate amount of time having to count out all the coins which is going to annoy him even more. Tick.

He raises his head and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps I can offer you a drink while you wait?” 

Belle’s just weighing up the pros and cons of tea versus coffee when Gold intrudes on her thoughts with the offer of either brandy or scotch. She isn’t particularly fond of any sort of spirits but perhaps a small glass won’t be too bad. “Brandy, then, thank you.”

Gold nods and then disappears into the back room, returning shortly afterwards with a beautiful cut glass decanter and matching glasses. There’s no doubt the man has impeccable taste. She watches sourly as he pours two healthy measures of what looks like extremely expensive brandy and pushes her glass over to her before raising his in a mock salute.

“To paying debts,” he says and starts to take a sip.

“To making good on the promises you make,” Belle replies and savours the choking sound of brandy going down the wrong way. Waiting patiently until Gold regains his equilibrium, she watches his face run a gamut of expressions, from outrage to something darker. It makes her shiver, it makes her insides burn like molten liquid.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” he growls but if he hopes to intimidate Belle he’s going to be sorely disappointed. He can growl all he wants at her; truth be told she could listen to him growling in that gorgeous Scottish burr all night long.

After a healthy gulp of her drink, she takes another aim at her target. “Well I thought you were a man who liked to keep his word, a man of honour, as it were.” 

Gold stills as she fishes a dollar note out of her purse. Bullseye.

“Do I need to remind you what it says here?” Belle continues, the picture of innocence, as she wafts it in front of his wonderfully long nose. When he says nothing, preferring instead to take a swig of brandy, she offers to read back his words to him.

The affronted look he shoots at her reminds her of a cat that’s been doused with water. “That won’t be necessary, thank you Miss French,” Gold says from between gritted teeth. “I’m not in my dotage quite yet.”

“If you say so. It’s just that not having heard a peep from you since you left me in the library I thought that perhaps you’d forgotten. I know that once you get to your age, things can easily slip your mind. My father’s the same.”

The noise the glass makes when he slams it down on the counter makes her jump. “I’d advise you to tread very carefully, Miss French. You really do not want to see what I’m capable of if provoked. And for the record I am nothing - nothing - like your father.”

“Oh I wasn’t implying that at all. In fact I quickly decided that the reason you didn’t act on your promise had nothing to do with senility.” Gold snorts. “No, the reason’s been staring me in the face and I can’t believe it’s only just clicked with me, it’s so obvious. It’s because you’re a coward, hiding here in the shadows, quick with your words, slow with the follow through. I thought you were different, but it turns out you’re just like all the rest, Gold, all talk, no action. A coward.”

“Say that again Miss French,” Gold says, his voice low and dangerous. And when had he moved from his position behind the counter? How does a man who uses a cane have the stealth of a lion stalking prey? She suddenly feels as if the room has shrunk and takes a couple of steps backwards to create some space but he’s coming after her now, sure and steady. 

Belle continues to back up until there’s nowhere for her to go. She's pressed up against the front door, caught like a bird in a trap. She can feel her heart beating wildly as Gold reaches her. He places a hand either side of her head and leans in. “It’s a dangerous game to play, Miss French, calling my bluff like that.”

Belle no longer cares. She just wants. Wants his hands on her, his mouth on her, his tongue against her driving her into oblivion.

She takes one of his hands and guides it down the front of her dress, all the way down until it's resting on her bare thigh. "Oh I dare you," she breathes. "Do your very worst."

Gold moves his head a little to look at her. She knows he's checking to make sure he's not misreading her because they both know there's no going back from this. Belle tilts her hips forward and murmurs her encouragement just in case rubbing herself against him isn't sign enough.

His kisses are just as Belle imagined them to be. Very much like the man himself they are intense and very, very thorough. She sinks into the kiss, allowing him to set the pace (as if there's no tomorrow and not much left of today). His hair is so soft and she loves how it feels to thread her fingers through it. But there are shirts to open and trousers to unfasten so soon her fingers are busy with buttons and zips and then she can feel his skin, warm beneath her hands. He's hard against her thigh and just this is enough to make her wet. 

The hand resting on her leg is busy inching her dress ever upwards until she knows she's exposed and this should make her feel vulnerable but instead it makes her ache for him. It's no surprise to her that he knows how to use those fingers of his and it isn't long until the ache builds to a blinding white crescendo that leaves her gasping a jumble of curse words and his name. When she's finally able to lift her head from Gold's shoulder, his eyes meet hers and her stomach flips. He looks slightly debauched, his pupils blown wide, lips wet and plump and she wonders what she must look like.

Neither speak for a moment or two and then Gold leans in to whisper in her ear. "So seeing how well 'call my bluff' worked out, for next month's rent day I was thinking we could try strip poker.


End file.
